Being the story of an extracurricular lesson in the finer points of obedience, self-control, and extortion.

Ms. Hindress drummed her fingers on the desktop, her dark red nails clacking sharply on the well-polished wood. The color didn't suit her, she'd always thought, but like everything else about her professional appearance, it was chosen for effect. Her blouse was starched until it could stand on its own, her skirt and blazer tailored to perfectly grip and drape every curve, an unsubtle dare to look anywhere else. Her full lips matched the deep red of her fingernails and were set in their usual stern, neutral pose. Her auburn hair was swept back and pinned in a tight, flawless spiral at the back of her head, accentuating her high, broad cheekbones.

She arched one meticulously-plucked eyebrow, a tiny note of condescension to go with her piercing, blue-eyed stare. She was, from head to toe and as always in the presence of her students, severe.

The effect was not lost on the boy who stood before her desk. He put up a good show, as his reputation dictated, but his attempts to disguise his nervous shifting from foot to foot as boredom, his tugging at his collar as a casual gesture, were hopelessly transparent.

Play it to the hilt, Johnny Boy, Ms. Hindress thought, fighting hard to suppress a thin smile. The ball won't be in your court for long.

She loved to see them sweat. The predator in her liked to believe she could smell their fear. This time, though, a different sort of predatory instinct told her she could smell something else as well.

The clock by the door ticked past five thirty.

She slowly uncrossed her shapely, dark-stockinged legs and made a show of re-crossing them the other way. She'd been turned sideways, sitting up straight as usual but resting her left arm almost casually on the desk, sacrificing a bit of formality for the chance to bait him with her legwork.

He took the bait. A tiny downward flick of the eyes, very quick, no guilty expression to betray it. The kid was well-practiced, but he'd given himself away. Even as he stood in fear for his comfortable place in this silver-spoon school, he couldn't help but watch the show.

Ooh, Johnny, Johnny... I was right about you, she chided him in her mind.

Aloud she said, "How much do your parents pay to send you to this school, Mr. Thorton?"

He stiffened, rising to his full height. He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like the jocks he was forever getting into fights with.

"Too much". Despite his flippancy, she could hear him fighting down the instinctive tremble in his voice. She turned to face the desk, watching him watch her legs disappear beneath it, then leaned back in her leather chair and steepled her fingers before her.

"Do you resent them for that?"

His eyebrows twitched. He hadn't expected that one at all.

"You my shrink now?"

"You stupid now? Use complete sentences and address me with respect, boy." She used the last word like a spear and watched it hit home. No kid approaching eighteen takes being called boy lightly, especially not the cocky, smart-ass type like John Thorton.

He took the blow well. His lip twitched and he drew a deep breath, making his hard chest strain against his shirt front. Ms. Hindress was glad he'd taken his uniform blazer off. When he replied, his voice was even.

"Are you my shrink now, Miss Hindress?"

"Ms. Hindress." She said it in her sweetest voice, with her most sadistic smile.

He smiled thinly and repeated the name properly through gritted teeth. She sat up straight again.

"No Mr. Thorton, I'm not. I'm merely trying to gain a little understanding as to why, in God's holy name, you would throw all the money they're spending on you away by bringing these into my classroom."

She pointed to the spread of color photographs on her desk. They were low-angle shots depicting several of the school's prettier, more popular girls in the gym locker room, in various states of undress. Each photo was ringed in fuzzy blackness, the out-of-focus edge of the camera's concealment.

"And I'd like to understand how me dropping a pocket knife gives you the right to search my bookbag." His voice was still even, his tone more defiant than ever. She smiled pleasantly and flicked his Swiss Army knife with one finger, spinning it on her desktop.

"Dangerous contraband gives me probable cause. It's good to have authority, Mr. Thorton. Though at the rate you're going, you'll never know about that. And you didn't answer my question."

He shrugged. "The market's good."

She leaned forward eagerly, saw his eyes flick down the front of her blouse. Puppet on a string. "Market? Would you care to tell me who comprises your little voyeur market?"

"No." The word came out fast, a knee-jerk response. She'd been expecting it. This kid held the rare position of popularity without the aid of varsity sports. He was the sort of merry prankster who tended to become a sort of minor-league folk hero to his classmates, and this reputation could never be maintained by ratting out his followers.

"You know things will go easier for you if you do."

"I know. No deal."

Ms. Hindress breathed a heavy sigh.

"Well then, I suppose this is the part where I call your parents, and present these naughty little pictures to Principal Sturgeon tomorrow morning. I'm afraid you won't last the week, John."

His bright green eyes widened and flicked down to the phone on her desk. She gave it a long look as well, then looked back up at him and batted her long lashes expectantly. The young man chewed his lip in indecision. Ms. Hindress reached for the phone. He hung his head. Ignoring him studiously, she began to dial the number slowly, betting on four.

He surprised her. She had dialed six digits before he said "Wait." But the hint of desperation she'd been counting on was there. She looked up at him sternly, finger poised above the final key.

"Wait for what?"

He took a long time responding, as though choosing his words carefully.

"Isn't there... another way?"

She lifted her finger off the telephone dial.

"You mean, another way besides your inevitable expulsion, and besides you telling me who your buyers are?"

"Yes."

"Do I understand correctly that you'd like to deal with this... quietly?"

His eyes widened hopefully, and she could hear the desperation beneath the surface of his flat, toneless "Yes". She could already feel the thrill of victory. He was right where she wanted him. Step into my parlor...

She cradled the phone gently and sat back in her high-backed chair, her shoulders creaking against the soft dark leather.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I suppose there is one other option, if you really do prefer it."

"I do." He was jumping at it already. This one was just too easy. She leaned forward and slowly drew open her lower right desk drawer. She was already beginning to fell that old familiar tingle. The real fun was about to begin.

"I must admit," she mused, "that it isn't really all that quiet. But it will stay inside this office. I presume that's what you meant."

"Yes ma'am, it-"

And he stopped short as he saw what she was pulling out of the drawer: a long, well-polished oak paddle. It was eighteen inches long not counting the leather-wrapped handle, five inches wide and a half-inch thick. Small holes were drilled through the wood all down its length.

It was her favorite tool; easy and comfortable to wield, long enough for serious momentum, light and narrow enough for good quick swats. The holes made it even faster, and gave it a wicked little swish as it cut the air on its way to its victim. She'd once made an all-state quarterback cry with this paddle.

That had been fun, a romp for her darkest aspects, but she could already see that this time would be different. John's breathing had changed, grown heavy, and his wide eyes were locked on the paddle in her hand. She knew straight-up fear when she saw it, and this was not it. Not by a long sight. This was going to be the true, elusive experience so seldom found even by the most careful searching.

She spoke now in a deep, husky purr. The time for pretense was past... mostly.

"I had a feeling you might be interested in settling this between the two of us."

"So that's why you kept me so late." His voice nearly caught in his throat. She smiled her favorite bad-pussycat smile.

"Sturgeon's the last man out on Fridays. Five fifteen, like clockwork."

"I know."

"You would. The professionally naughty ones always do."

"Like you?" For the first time since he'd stepped into her office, his pouty lips curled up into his trademark mischievous smile. "This is illegal."

"But having you expelled isn't, Mr. Thorton. And whether you choose to go before my board of education or not, it won't be here tomorrow." She could see his hands shaking, sense his fear and excitement. As he spoke, his voice cracked the smallest bit.

"I'll go before it, Ms. Hindress."

Victory.

She held his gaze for several long moments, then stood up with slow grace and stalked around the desk to stand beside him, putting a little extra swing in her luscious hips. Her heels thudded softly on the carpeted floor. Even with the extra three inches they gave her, she still had to tilt her head up a bit to look him in the eye. She'd always been proud of her ability to command the respect and attention of students who towered over her.

He kept his eyes forward as she approached, like a military cadet. She stopped right next to him, back straight, paddle at her side, her chest thrust out a bit so that her hardening nipples almost brushed his arm. He turned his head slowly and looked at her. She could see apprehension in the big green pools of his eyes, could feel his hot breath on her face. It smelled surprisingly good. And then, in a low, strong voice, she gave the order she so loved to hear herself give.

"Bend over. Grip the other side of the desk."

A rush of crimson surged into his pale, freckled cheeks, but she could have sworn she almost saw him begin to smile. His reply came out in a low whisper from the back of his throat.

"Yes ma'am."

He faced forward again and bent slowly from the waist. Resting on his elbows, he obediently gripped the far side of the desk. She watched with extreme pleasure as his khaki pants were pulled tight across his firm young ass by the motion. It took her a moment to realize that he was looking back over his shoulder at her. She tore her eyes away from his offered backside and smiled at him slyly. He'd caught her staring. In other circumstances, that would have embarrassed her. Not now. In this moment, as his strict disciplinarian, she felt no shame, made no apologies. Only demands.

"Arch your back, Thorton." She held out the paddle and rested its long, broad edge against his butt. "Get it higher." He blushed even harder, but did as he was told. She could see the muscles knotting in his broad shoulders as he put more weight on his arms, raising his ass up high for her. She drew the paddle far back, poised to swing.

"Face forward." Reluctantly, he did so. She held the paddle there for a long while, listening to the seconds tick away on the clock behind her. Twelve... thirteen... fourteen... She could see the tension mounting in her student. Twenty-eight... twenty-nine...

Swish-CRACK!

He started violently and let out a tiny gasp as the long paddle hit home. She held it there against his tight, trembling buttocks, listening to his heavy breathing.

"Even with all that prep time, you weren't ready for it, were you Thorton?" she chided him with great pleasure. He shook his head slowly.

Swish-CRACK!

He jumped again.

"Answer me properly, boy."

He took several deep breaths before answering, mustering the control to speak clearly. Even so, there was a definite tremble in his voice.

"No ma'am."

"Well I hope you're quite ready now. It's a feeling you'll be getting used to."

"Yes ma'am."

"What do you think... would twenty be sufficient to teach you a lesson?"

"Probably." Swish-CRACK! "It- it probably would, ma'am, yes."

Probably. Was that a hint? She usually got an emphatic "yes". She felt a fluttering of pleasant anticipation.

"We'll see," she said sternly, and then she began to paddle him in earnest.

Swish-CRACK!

Swish-CRACK!

Swish-CRACK!

He bucked and flinched with each loud, stinging impact, rocking forward onto his toes with the force. Though his legs trembled more with each hard swat, he was careful to raise his ass up for her again after each one. If anything, he was raising it higher by the last five strokes. Her heart thudded faster every time she felt the firm, satisfying impact of hard wood and lean, young ass.

She held the paddle firmly in place after the twentieth swat, watching him lower his heels back slowly to the carpet. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, and over it the sound of his husky, excited breath. In this moment, she owned him.

"Th- thank you, ma'am." He said breathlessly. Her heart skipped a beat at his words. This kid knows what to say. She smiled wickedly. He won't have counted on this, though.

"My pleasure. Now, are you ready for your twenty?"

He looked back at her quickly, eyes wide with shock.

"Ma'am?"

She raised her eyebrows innocently.

"Yes?"

"That wasn't it?" Swish-CRACK! "That... wasn't it... ma'am?"

She could tell his mind was reeling, as expected, but she played incredulous. "Excuse me? Did you expect me to count them for you?"

His grip tightened on the desk edge. She saw his knuckles whiten.

"I counted, ma'am. Twenty."

"A likely story. Now count aloud. I told you you'd be getting used to this."

He faced forward again and hung his head, bracing himself.

"Yes, ma'am."

Swish-CRACK!

"One."

"One, what?"

"One... ma'am."

"Good. Let's try that one again."

Swish-CRACK!

"One, ma'am."

"Much better."

Swish-CRACK!

He let out a small cry. "Two, ma'am."

Swish-CRACK!

"Three... ma'am." His knees were trembling.

Swish-CRACK!

He whimpered. "F-four... ma'am."

Poor thing, she thought to herself. Poor, naughty thing. And on the next one, she really let him have it.

Swish-CRACK!!

His knees buckled. He moaned loudly. "Five... ma'am." She drew the paddle back for the sixth, but then...

"P-please, Ms. Hindress. No more."

She paused. "I beg your pardon?" Her voice sounded dangerous. She was far more practiced at hiding excitement than young Mr. Thorton was. He tensed at the obvious threat in her tone, and went on breathlessly.

"Please... no more... with the paddle."

She rested the paddle against his sore backside for a moment, then began rubbing it across the smooth fabric of the seat of his pants.

"Do I..." She rubbed the paddle across his bottom in a long stroke that finally brought her fingers in contact with his left buttock. "... understand you correctly, Thorton?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am."

She smiled. "Good." She watched him relax a bit as she set the paddle down beside him on the desk. She cupped her palm against his backside, savoring the hot firmness, and felt him arch back into her touch. He was asking for it.

She gave it to him.

Ten swats to each buttock in rapid succession, hard and loud, and he pushed his ass out for each one, begging for it. He was aroused - good. He had grown comfortable with the situation - not good. The more at ease he felt, the less control she had. She wanted him uneasily excited.